On the Other Side
by Grissom
Summary: -Story Complete- A case becomes personal for Grissom, with good reason. He is suspected of murder, and only his friends can pull him out of trouble, both with the law and within himself...GS
1. Default Chapter

Title: On the Other Side

Disclaimer: Don't own it. That's all up to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer and the gang. And I must say, they are doing a _great_ job. 

Sara smiled at Catherine and Nick as she stepped into the break room. They nodded back to her, then resumed their conversation over whether they would be able to decapitate a cheating spouse. Sara shook her head at them, still smiling as she opened the small fridge to stow her Pepsi.

She recoiled her hand quickly, seeing a jar of maggots sitting on a shelf. She sighed, slamming the fridge shut. "I thought Grissom was going to take those out yesterday."

Catherine looked up briefly. "Oh, he didn't work last night."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "Really? He actually spends a day away from the lab?"

Nick shook his head. "He takes off every once in a while, Sara. You know that."

She sighed in reply, then turned and grabbed the offending jar from the fridge. She then quickly walked into Grissom's office, not even bothering to knock before going in. He wasn't there, and the lights were still off.

She frowned, then made her way to the mini-fridge behind his desk. She opened it, shoved the maggot jar inside, then shut the door. She was straightening up again when the lights suddenly flipped on, almost blinding her. She whirled around quickly.

Grissom was leaning against the doorjamb, his fingers still on the light switch. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he studied the scene. "Sara," he said, the tone of his voice betraying his amusement, "what are you doing in my office? Alone…In the dark…" His eyebrows rose as a smile broke loose.

She crossed her arms across her chest, resisting the urge to return his smile. "Bringing you your maggots," she said, pointing to the fridge. "The rest of us don't appreciate them sitting next to our lunch."

His eyes widened slightly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, quickly going over to the fridge. He squatted down and pulled out the jar.

Sara frowned. "New snack?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer. She leaned over his shoulder, pretending to be interesting in the bugs.

"Nah," he said, looking over his shoulder, his face inches from hers. "I prefer grasshoppers." Sara grimaced, but Grissom chose not comment on it. "Actually, these little guys were part of an experiment. I wanted to know how the maggots would react to a drastic change in temperature."

"Such as, if a decomposing body were transferred. Say…into a freezer or climate controlled truck?"

Grissome grinned. "Exactly." His gaze went back to his jar for a moment before he put them back into the fridge. He pulled out another jar, opened it, then offered it to Sara.

She frowned. "What is…was it?"

He shrugged. "Chocolate covered grasshoppers." He smiled, then popped one into his own mouth, demonstrating that they were edible.

Sara half grimaced, half smiled as she tentatively grabbed one. She stared at it for a moment before putting it into her mouth.

Grissom smiled at her, his eyes alight. "See, they're not that bad."

She shrugged, returning his smile. "Yeah, but they're not great." She met his eyes, and the happiness and content she saw in them surprised her. Never before had Grissom seemed so happy. Despite all the times Sara had accused Grissom of not feeling human emotions, he always carried his own burdens. Burdens that haunted his eyes. And for now, they seemed to have disappeared.

He cocked his head to the side slightly. "What?" he asked softly.

Sara tore her eyes from his reluctantly, secret wishing for nothing more than to explore their blue depths. "Nothing," she said, moving away from him to give him room to stand. He turned to the door, grabbing papers with one hand and putting the other on her back gently. "Come on. I need to hand out assignments so we can get to work."

All of the CSI's met in the break room a few minutes later. Grissom was reclined comfortably in his usual seat at the head of the table, smiling gently to himself. Catherine and Nick had yet to finish their cheating spouse discussion, and Sara was busy preparing coffee.

Warrick stepped inside, glancing at Grissom before joining Sara. "Grissom's looking kinda happy. What did he get, a double homicide with lots of bugs?"

Sara shrugged, pouring coffee into two cups. "I don't know. He was off yesterday; maybe it was good for him." She shrugged again before grabbing both cups of coffee and heading towards the table. She set one in front of Grissom before taking her own seat.

He looked up at her in surprise. "Oh, thank you." He gave her a small smiled, then waited for Warrick to sit. He shuffled through the papers for a moment. "Ok guys." He handed one paper to Nick. "Man found in the park. No witnesses, just a bullet in the head."

Nick grinned sarcastically. "Oh joy."

Grissom gave him a look, then handed Warrick a paper. "Hit and run."

Warrick nodded. "Alright."

"Sara, Catherine, and I have a DB in a hotel room. Just came in."

Sara nodded, then grabbed the paper. "A so-far unidentified elderly woman's body found in the Lucky Eight hotel. Appears to be a homicide." She looked up at Grissom. "Oh joy," she said, mimicking Nick.

Moments later, the CSI's were all on their way to their crime scenes. Catherine opted to take her own vehicle, just in case someone needed to run back to the lab, leaving Grissom and Sara stuck in the same truck. It was an awkward silence at first, and finally Sara could take it no more.

"So…have a nice day off?"

Grissom glanced at her briefly. "That's not really your business, but yes, I did."

Sara grinned. "Get a hot date or something?" she asked, though secretly she hoped he would say no.

Grissom laughed to himself. "Not even close."

"Oh come on. What's the big secret? Or did you just go spend a wonderful day at the body farm?"

Grissom rolled his eyes. "For your information, I haven't been there in a while."

"Well…" Sara leaned closer to him in her seat, staring at him for some kind of reaction.

He fought to keep a smiled at bay, but it showed anyway. He laughed, then playfully shoved her back into her seat. She smiled, actually liking this change in Grissom. Whatever had happened had made him more open, playful. It was almost as if the discomfort that surrounded them since she'd asked him out had disappated.

She held up her hands. "Ok, you keep your secrets, like you always do. But whatever it was that you did, you should do it more often. I like this Grissom."

He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at her. "_This_ Grissom?"

"Yeah, you know, playful, happy, nice. Sure beats the bossy, moody Grissom we usually get."

He shook his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that." He put the car in park, and Sara saw that they had reached the hotel. He glanced at her. "Let's go do our job."

She smiled, then unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out of the car. He followed suit, and the two of them made their way up to a police officer standing by the tape.

"Hey! Wait up!" someone shouted. They turned to see Catherine rushing towards them, her kit in hand.

"Late, Catherine?" Grissom teased.

"Not even close."

He shook his head, then turned to the officer. "What do we have?"

"Old woman found dead in her room. Stab wounds to the chest. The manager called it in, said he heard a commotion from the room last night, then got concerned when the lady missed her check-out time."

"This woman have a name?"

"We're getting that now, but you can go ahead and go in there."

Grissom nodded, then turned and beckoned to Catherine and Sara. He stepped under the tape and made his way into the hotel room. It was a one of the very small rooms, with only a couch, TV, bed, and bathroom. The body lay on the floor between the bathroom and the bed, her face turned away from the CSI's. Grissom turned on his flashlight, then kneeled down to peer at the woman's face.

Catherine was checking out the bloody walls when she turned back to the body, noticing that Grissom seemed to have frozen. She stepped up beside him, seeing a look of horror on his now-pale face. "Gris?" she asked, concerned for her friend.

"Oh my god…" he managed to say, then he stood and rushed out of the room. Seconds later, Catherine could hear him gagging outside, thowing up onto the pavement.

She frowned. That was something that Grissom never did. Something was very wrong. She leaned over to see the woman's face.

Sara stepped up close to her, staring after Grissom, torn between going to help him and seeing what had caused his reaction. She stared down at the body. It was just an old woman, probably in her seventies or eighties, nothing Grissom hadn't seen many times before. "What's wrong with Gris?" she asked Catherine, who also seemed to have frozen.

Catherine slowly turned to her, a tear running down her face. "His mother…That's his mother."

A/N: DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE CHAPTER! 

Ok, so far, from the episodes I've seen, they haven't mentioned whether Gris's mother is already dead or what. But if you guys know any _real_ information about her, besides the fact that she was deaf, let me know. I try to make my stories as accurate as possible.

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

Sara's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "His…his mother?" She turned to look out of the door, where she could see a police officer going to help Grissom. "Are you sure?"

Catherine nodded, closing her eyes. "I'm sure. I've met her a few times." She put a hand to her mouth, clenching her eyes even tighter. "Oh god…" Then she opened them, hearing Grissom shouting at the police to leave him the hell alone. She turned towards the door, and saw Grissom shakily making his way to his Tahoe. She turned to Sara quickly. "He can't drive like that! Sara, see if you can stop him. Or just make sure he makes it home, or wherever he's going."

Sara nodded, her heart slightly panicking, then rushed out to the other Tahoe, Grissom having already pulled out in his. A police officer tried to get answers from her, but she pulled out soon after.

She followed Grissom as best she could, but soon lost track of him in the traffic. She took a guess and went to his house. She sighed in relief when she saw his Tahoe parked in front. _At least he's at home_, she thought to herself. She quickly put her car in park, then rushed up to the front door. From inside, she could hear the sound of glass shattering and things falling.

Then it stopped, suddenly. Her heart skipped a beat and she reached for the doorknob. She hesitated only a second, thinking that perhaps Grissom needed his own time, but she wanted to help him. That part of her won out, and she pushed the door open.

She stepped inside, noticing how everything on his kitchen counters was knocked out of place, some glasses and plates shattered on the ground. She frowned, then stepped further into his house. She heard shuffling from deeper in the house, so she continued walking.

"Grissom?" she called, not wanting to startle him. She got no reply, but still continued walking towards his bedroom. She carefully peered around the corner into it. Grissom had his back to the wall, with one knee pulled up to his chest. His forehead rested on the knee, and his hands covered his face. Sara's heart felt as if it were torn in two. This was Gil Grissom, CSI extraordinaire. He wasn't supposed to be like this. She slowly approached him, noticing that one of his hands was bleeding badly. She sank down beside him, taking his hand in hers.

He didn't look up, but Sara could tell that he was or had been crying, and that tore her heart up even more. Grissom had always stayed strong before, not matter what the case. This kind of thing should never have happened to him. Fighting back her own tears for his heartache, she slipped an arm around his shoulder, wrapping the other around his chest. She thought he may pull away, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed to melt into her, burying his face in her shoulder. Sara closed her eyes, holding him close to her.

"Grissom…I'm _so_ sorry…" she said, choking on her own words. Words alone could never tell the grief she felt for him, the pity. "I'm sorry…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Catherine gently knocked on the door, unsure if she should intrude or not. She heard a muffled 'Come in", and slowly pushed the door open. The first thing she noticed was the mess in the kitchen, horribly out of place in Grissom's neat home.

She didn't see anyone, but knew that both Sara and Grissom were still here, both of their Tahoes still parked below. Seeing no one in the living room, she headed back towards the bedroom.

Sara looked up at her from the floor when she entered. She offered Catherine a small smile. She still sat with her back against the wall, but Grissom had drifted off into a restless sleep, and she held his head in her lap. Occasionally, Grissom would tense up in his sleep, and his face would contort in fear. Sara would grasp his hand tightly, and the spell would pass.

"He fell asleep a while ago. Cried himself to sleep, I think."

Catherine sank down beside Sara, idly running a hand over Grissom's hair. "Poor guy…This shouldn't have happened to you," she whispered softly. She looked up at Sara. "What happened to his hand?" she asked, gently lifting it up from the floor. 

"Have you seen his kitchen? My guess is that he cut it on something while he was flinging stuff." She looked down at his face for a moment. "What are we going to do?"

Catherine shrugged. "We'll just have to do our jobs, I guess. As hard as it may be. The question is: who can work it? Not Grissom, that's way out of the question. And…not you, I think."

Sara looked up at her abruptly. "Why not me?"

Catherine looked up at her. "Well…" She sighed and shook her head. "You're too close to Grissom to work this case. I know you would mean well in your investigation, but you're too personally involved."

"Well, who's going to work it? Whoever did this _needs_ to be found. For Grissom…"

Catherine put a hand on Sara's shoulder. "Nicky and I will work it."

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wow, this story got a lot of support. I appreciate that. It was an odd idea that popped into my head, but once ideas get there, they don't go away until I write it.

Sorry the chapter is so short, but I promise they will get longer.


	3. Chapter Three

Sara was awakened some time later by the sound of a door shutting softly. She blinked once, trying desperately to clear her head, and sat up. For a second, she was confused about where she was, until she recognized Grissom's floor. She looked up, noticing that she was on the floor of his bedroom, lying against the floor with a flannel blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She frowned. She remembered falling asleep with Grissom, but there had been no blanket involved. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders as she sat up, acutely aware of its 'Grissom' smell. She smiled softly, then stood.

She walked quietly out of his bedroom, entering the large living room. At first she didn't see anyone, then she was able to make out the still, dark form of Grissom standing in front of a window. His hands hung loosely at his side, and he seemed lost in thought.

Sara closed her eyes for a moment, unsure of how she was supposed to comfort him. The man had just found his mother murdered, how do you comfort that? Plus, Sara had no idea what that felt like. She wouldn't even know how to comfort someone whose parent died of natural causes. She'd never had to go through that. She opened her eyes, then slowly approached Grissom. She laid a hand on his shoulder gently.

He turned his head slightly to glance at her, the back to the window. "Hey," she said softly. He nodded in response. She moved to stand beside him, staring at his eyes even though he refused to look at her. "You okay?"

He looked down at the floor. "As well as could be expected," he said grimly.

Sara moved a little closer, then reached down to grasp his hand. He looked at her in surprise for a moment, but she was inspecting the cut. She looked up at him after a moment, finally meeting his eyes. She almost made herself look away. The happiness that had shone so prominently the previous night was gone, replaced by helplessness and inclusive grief. She tore her eyes from his after a moment, under the pretext of examining his hand. "You cleaned it up," she stated.

He nodded, turning once again to stare out of the window. "Yeah." He offered no further explanation, which really didn't surprise Sara. 

She put her hand back on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You want to talk about it?"

He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping. This had obviously been something he dreaded. "I just…" He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I just don't know how…how to deal with this. I don't know what to do, what to feel." He looked down at her, and Sara was surprised to see a tear rolling down his face. "I'm lost."

Sara closed her eyes, then surprised Grissom by wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning her face on his shoulder. He didn't pull away, nor did he break down. He just put a hand on her back softly.

"I'll help you, Grissom. I'll help," she whispered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nick frowned as he stared at the door to the autopsy room. He knew what waited inside, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to face it or not. A dark aura seemed to have befallen all of the graveyard shift upon hearing the news of Grissom's mother and Grissom's slight breakdown. And just his luck, Nick had gotten assigned to work the case…

He shook his head. Would he be able to work the case objectively? He thought so, though he would be unable to take some of it personally. It would take all that he had to not strangle the bastard who had killed Mrs. Grissom. But, perhaps strangling would be better than what Grissom would have to do to him.

Catherine stepped up behind him, noticing his clenched jaw and distant gaze. She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump. "You ready?" she asked quietly.

He smiled feebly. "It's just another case…" he said, more to convince himself than her. For him to do his job correctly, he couldn't think of the woman as his mentor's mother, a major part of the man's life. He had to think of her as just another person found dead, as hard as it would be.

She nodded, then pushed the door open. Doc Robbins looked up as they stepped in, his own face grave. He limped over to the table, where the body was covered in a sheet. For that, Catherine was grateful. Not having to see Mrs. Grissom cold on the table right away was a relief. She and Nick both nodded to Al, then took their places next to the body.

"Just another case, just another case, just another case…" Nick was chanting under his breath, trying to steady himself. He had to do this, he had to catch whoever had done this. For Grissom, for the man who had taught him all he knew about being a good CSI.

Robbins put his hands on the gurney. "Evelyn Grissom, age seventy-one. Cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen," he said, sounding more tired than he usually did. "Deaf, and has been for quite a while." He sighed and shook his head, pulling up the sheet to show them the wounds, but still hiding the woman's face.

Catherine grimaced at the site. "Definitely an angry crime," she commented softly. She looked up at Nick. "That's usually the kind of crime we see from an upset relative or lover."

Nick frowned. "Well, she was an old woman, and the clerk didn't say anything about a man." He shook his head. "I don't know…"

Catherine stared at the floor for a moment. "I'm going to go back and bring in the hotel manager, see what he has to say."

Nick nodded, then looked up at Robbins. Robbins shook his head. "I'll continue with the autopsy."

"I'll go with you, Catherine," Nick said, already stripping off his gloves.

Catherine held up a hand. "You can't. You know they're going to want Grissom interviewed. He is the only relative she has."

Nick shook his head. "Catherine…I…I can't interrogate Gris on this." He looked up at Catherine pleadingly. "I can't do that to him…"

Catherine glanced down at the floor for a moment. "I know. That's why we're bringing in someone from dayshift, someone who doesn't know Grissom, except by reputation. That way, she can't play favorites, as Ecklie is calling it."

Nick's frown deepened. "You brought in someone from days? Why?"

"I told you, so we can handle this case objectively. Personally, if I caught the murderer, I'd kill him. So we need someone who's not personally connected to Grissom, as a friend or subordinate, to help us out with the case." She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's still our case. She'll just be doing the questioning."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The man sat nervously at the table, tapping his feet on the floor. He glanced up at Catherine, but she refused to look up at him. Finally, the door opened, and Jim Brass stepped in. He looked unusually grave, but nodded to Catherine and took a seat.

"Alright," he said, signally that she could proceed with the interrogation.

Catherine leaned forward, glancing at a file. "Mr. Roberts, you are the manager of the Lucky Eight hotel, is that correct?"

He tilted his head irritably. "Yeah. So what?"

"Could you tell us what happened tonight?"

He sighed. "The old lady checked in at about six yesterday. She didn't speak to me, or anything. Just gave me a credit card and held up a finger. So I assumed she wanted one room, so I gave it to her. Well, about seven this morning I get a call from a customer, saying there's a bunch of noise in the room a few doors down. The old lady's room. So I called her room, she picked it up, said everything was fine. Well, check-out time is five o'clock." He smiled, noticing Catherine's raised eyebrow. "We get some customers in there who…like to sleep late, ya know?"

Catherine shook her head. "Yeah, I know. Go on. Woman checked in yesterday afternoon, got a complaint this morning, woman missed check-out time."

The man shrugged. "Well, a lot of people who pre-pay leave without letting me know. So about six I went to go make sure she was out of there before letting the maid in. That's when I found her."

"Was she dead?"

"Yeah. She was dead. I didn't touch her, I just looked, freaked out, then called the cops."

Catherine glanced at the paper again. "So, when you got the complaint, all you did was call the hotel room?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah. I get lots of people in here who make lots of noise."

"Was there anyone who went into Mrs.Grissom's room that morning or night that you are aware of?"

"No. She left at about two hours after checking in, came back an hour later."

Brass raised an eyebrow. "You keep this close a watch on all of your customers?"

Roberts shook his head. "I just noticed, okay?" He sighed. "Look, I ain't done nothin'. I just found the old lady. Can I go now?"

Brass and Catherine exchanged glances. Then Brass nodded. "Yeah, you can go. But we'll be in touch."

They watched as the man sauntered out, looking very pissed. Catherine shook her head. "Didn't get very far, did we?"

Brass shook his head. "Further than we were. But, considering that we were nowhere, that isn't saying much."

"Well, we have a time frame. Today is Thursday. Mrs. Grissom checked into the hotel Wednesday at six. At about eight she leaves, comes back at about nine. Thursday morning, about seven, manager gets a call about some disturbances in her room. Calls her room, gets an answer that everything's okay. Then, at six this afternoon, he goes to see if she left, finds the body." She tapped her pencil on the table. "So, some time between nine last night and six this afternoon," she put her hands on her temples, "someone brutally attacked and killed her. Probably during the commotion this morning."


	4. Chapter Four

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New chapter for you! Enjoy.

And thanks to all who have so far reviewed this story. It means a lot. :)

Catherine sighed and tossed the papers onto the table, spilling a few on the floor in the process. She groaned and reached down to grab them, but Nick had already grabbed them. He set the in front of her on the break room table and slid into a seat.

"Something wrong? I mean, besides the obvious."

Catherine sighed and leaned her head into her hand. "I've been looking over the notes from the hotel owner. It just doesn't add up. Doesn't make sense…"

Nick frowned. "How so?"

"Well, the manager said that he called Mrs. Grissom's room, and she answered, listened to his question, then replied that everything was alright."

"Yeah?" Nick said, obviously not understanding where Catherine was going.

She slapped her hands on the table, wishing she could bop Nick in the head. "Grissom's mother was deaf! There's not way she could have heard the phone, much less answer a question said over it!"

Nick's eyes widened, and he began to wish he could bop himself in the head. "Oh…yeah."

Catherine shook her head. "So either he was lying about the phone call, or there was another woman in the hotel room."

Nick sighed. "Back to the crime scene…"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grissom stared out of the window as the buildings of Vegas flew by. He sighed, the buried his face into his hand, wishing everything would go away. Wishing he would wake up from this horrible nightmare and that things would be just as they were supposed to be. Perhaps, when he woke up, he could take some vacation time and head off to California.

He shook his head. This wasn't some horrible nightmare; this was real. His mother had really come to visit him, and was really dead. He let out a heavy sigh and buried his face in his hands.

Sara glanced at him as she drove, then put on hand on his thigh. He looked down at it for a moment, then scooped it up in his own, holding her hand tightly. "It all seems to be one big nightmare," he said quietly, almost too quietly for Sara to hear. "I keep thinking that I'll wake up, and things will be as they're supposed to. But deep down, I know. Things can never be the same."

She squeezed his hand. "You'll get through, Grissom. Time heals all."

He looked up at her now, studying her as she drove. Her eyes shifted to him and met his eyes. "Will it heal us?" he asked, almost a whisper.

For a moment, Sara had no idea how to reply to that. Was he talking about time healing the pain from his mother's death, or time healing the tension between the two of them? She decided not to say anything, just give Grissom's hand a squeeze. He stared at her for a while longer before turning back to the window, letting out an exhausted sigh.

A few moments later, Sara put the Tahoe into park in the LVPD parking lot. She let the engine run for a moment, staring at the building which now seemed to be so ominous. She knew what lie inside, how people would be talking about the Grissom case with no understanding of who the victim was. Not knowing how Grissom would react. She turned to him now, finding that he was also staring at the building.

He turned to her, then opened his door and slid out. Sara sighed, shut the car off, then followed. As she caught up to him, she did notice subtle changes in his demeanor. He seemed to be a little stiffer than usual, and his eyes were fixed on the ground. While Grissom wasn't someone who was going to spill out his feelings to the first friendly shoulder, there were others ways that he showed his grief. And his strong body language was one of them. Anyone who had spent much time around Grissom would know something was wrong, even without having heard the news.

They stepped into the lab together, making their way towards the back. To the morgue. Grissom reached the door to the morgue first, then froze. His face held an expression of utter fear. Never before had Sara seen that expression on his face, and she hoped that she never would again.

She put a hand on his arm. "Grissom, you don't' have to go in there. They know who she is. Catherine ID'd for you. You don't have to see…"

He turned to her, fixing her with his piercing gaze. "Weren't you listening?" He shook his head. "Right now, everything feels like it's a dream. I need to wake up. I need…finality. Closure only comes with the finality of death…"

Sara put her other hand around his shoulder, giving him an awkward hug. "Alright," she whispered, knowing that he had to accept. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

Grissom shook his head. "No."

She nodded and stepped back. "Alright."

He glanced at her for a second, fear and dread evident in his eyes. Then he turned and slowly pushed open the door to the morgue.

He'd been in that room more times than he would ever be able to count. But suddenly the air of the room seemed to get heavier, and he felt trapped. He watched the door close behind him, then closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them, then slowly walked up to the cabinets for the bodies.

He searched them for a moment before his eyes lay on the paper label of one. He gently ran his finger over the paper, reading it to himself countless times. _Grissom, Evelyn. Stabbing Victim. Willows, Stokes._ His eyes rested on the last two words a little longer. Catherine and Nick were working the case? He sighed, not in frustration, but in relief. He could think of no one he would trust more with his mother's case.

__

Mother…The word seemed to ignite the pain he felt deep in his heart. He stared at the paper for a second more before grasping the handle to the drawer. He froze, unsure if he really wanted to see. He shook his head again. _Closure…I have to see…_He pulled the drawer out, exposing a body covered in a white sheet.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sara stared nervously at the door to the morgue. Grissom had been in there for almost fifteen minutes. While it didn't seem like an excessively long amount of time, she was still worried. What if he'd collapsed again? While that seemed very un-Grissom-like, she still feared it.

She stepped closer to the doors, putting a hand on the handle of one. She hesitated, then slowly pushed it open, ready for anything. She knew that Grissom could be angry with her for intruding, but she needed to know that he was physically all right.

She stepped in, her eyes going towards the wall. Grissom stood by his mother's body, a blank expression on his face as he stared. But as Sara got closer, she saw that he wasn't really staring. While his eyes were fixed on his mother's still face, his thoughts were obviously miles away. He held her hand in one of his.

Sara moved closer to him, ready to leave if he made one indication that he wanted her to. Taking a risk, she put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to her slowly, pulling himself away from his thoughts. "It's different, you know. She's not…not just some case that came in. I mean…I can look at her face and remember a time when she was happy, and alive. I see her laugh when I told her a joke as a child. I see her smile when I graduated top of my class. I see her cry when I told her I was moving to Vegas. And then I see the pride when I told her I was head of the CSI department." He shook his head. "But then…it's gone. And she's just there. I mean, her body is here, but _she's_ not here."

"I know what you mean, Gris. Her spirit is gone." She moved closer. "But her spirit isn't _gone_, you know? She's watching over you right now, keeping an eye on you."

A small, sad smile flitted across Grissom's lips. "Yeah. She always did try to protect me." He moved his hand, placing his mother's hand on her stomach. Then he leaned forward and placed his forehead to his mother's, whispering something under his breath. Then he gave another sad smile before pulling the sheet over her face again. He pushed the drawer back in. He turned to Sara.

She was looking at him with such a look of pity and understanding that he felt as if his heart had melted. The cold wall he pulled up over it dissipated, and he reached for her, feeling as if he _had_ to have her in his arms. As if nothing else could ever be right. She came to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing comfort from her presence


	5. Chapter Five

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New chapter for you! Enjoy!

Catherine groaned as she pushed herself out of from under the bed. She coughed once, getting a look from Nick.

"Hey, if you're sick, stay away from me," he said idly, busy checking the carpet.

She rolled her eyes at him, choosing to ignore his juvenile comment. "There's nothing under the bed." She stood up, glancing at the suitcases still sitting on one of the chairs. Something caught her eye, and she stepped closer to it.

"Hey Nick," she said, turning to look at him, "do you think these belonged to the vic's clothes?" She held up her tweezers, a few long strings of thread held in her hand.

He squinted at them for a moment, then approached her to take a better look at them. "Looks like silk thread," he said, holding a magnifying glass up to it." He frowned, turning to look at the bloody spot on the floor. "She was wearing cotton."

Catherine sighed. "Doesn't mean she didn't get it caught earlier, while wearing a different shirt."

Nick nodded, knowing she was right. "Yeah. Let's take a look. This one is black, probably from a hem or a sleeve."

Catherine gave Nick a small smile. "Know a lot about clothes, Nicky?"

He smiled sarcastically. "No, just fibers."

They carefully zipped open the suitcase, noting everything that they took out, laying the clothes in a neat pile. It was more for respect of Mrs. Grissom than any help to them. They examined each piece of clothing, checking the color and fabric type. 

Nick sighed and say back on his haunches after they finished. "No black, silk shirts in here."

Catherine frowned, glancing around the room as she did. She then suddenly stood, moving toward the bathroom. She looked around in there for a moment, then reached onto a shelf, pulling down a plastic bag. "Dirty clothes bag," she explained to Nick as she glanced inside. "Most hotels give them to you." She looked in the bag for a moment, then set it down. "Still no silk."

Nick nodded. "So, the fibers don't belong to our vic." He looked up at Catherine. "Our killer was wearing a black, silk shirt when he killed Gris' mother." He frowned, looking at her suitcase. "But why were the fibers on the bag?"

"Robbery?" Catherine guessed, opening the drawers in the nightstand. "I don't see anything of hers in here. No ID, no purse. Nothing."

Nick nodded, absentmindedly gnawing on the end of his flashlight. "So, our killer got in here, killed Mrs. Grissom, then took all of her things. Wallet, purse. Doc said that it looked as if a ring were pulled from her finger."

"Right. Did you dust the room yesterday?"

"Yeah, right after you left to check on Gris. Ran what I found through AFIS. Cleaning people must do a great job, only prints I found were Mrs. Grissom and the manager."

"Wait, why would the manager's prints be all over a fresh room?"

"Well, he does own the place. Managers sometimes go through and repair things."

Catherine shook her head. "I still think something's wrong."

Nick nodded slowly, then peered underneath the air conditioner. He flashed his light under it, and near the end, something caught his attention. He crawled underneath the table, pulling out his tweezers as he did. He picked it up, the scooted out from underneath the table.

"What do you have, Nicky?" Catherine asked.

Nick frowned. "Looks like a hair. Grey, curled too." He looked up at Catherine. "This one is too short to be from Mrs. Grissom," he commented as he carefully placed it into a brown evidence envelope. "Could be from another tenant, but we'll check it out just in case. Still has the follicle on it; DNA paradise."

Catherine shook her head, giving Nick a small smile.

********

Nick and Catherine were taking a coffee break some time later when they heard a knock on the doorjamb of the break room. They turned simultaneously to see who it was. A young red-headed woman stepped inside, holding files in her hands.

She extended a hand to Catherine. "Micah Mitchell. I'm supposed to help in the interrogation of Gil Grissom? I was told that you two were unable to do it due to personal attachment."

Catherine shook her hand lightly, raising her eyebrows at her. "That's right. Gil Grissom is our boss, night shift supervisor. We're investigating the murder of his mother."

"Hmm…" Micah said idly as she went to the coffee maker. Catherine shot Nick a disapproving look when her back was turned; Nick responded with a shrug. "Do you have any suspects yet?" Micah continued.

"Not at the moment, but we are working on it," Catherine said, sitting down next to Nick.

"When is Mr. Grissom supposed to get here for the interrogation?"

Catherine's frown deepened. She then decided that she did _not_ like this woman. She was far too much like Ecklie. "Sara called and said that they were on their way. He wanted to positively ID the body." A chill ran down her spine, knowing that it had to be tearing Grissom apart inside.

Micah nodded. "Good. Better to get this over with." She sighed as she sank into a chair across the table from Catherine and Nick. "I've got other cases to work on."

Nick glanced up at Catherine when Micah looked down at one of Grissom's unfinished crossword puzzles that had been left on the table. He made sure that Micah wouldn't see, then mouthed, 'bitch'. Catherine stifled a laugh, coughing to cover it up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nick's hands were shaking as he stepped into the room adjoined to the interrogation room. He'd watched dozens and dozens of interrogations before, even participated in quite a few of them before. But never with anyone he knew. He wondered: how would Micah treat Grissom? Would she show the respect that he was due, or would she think that he was a suspect. But surely she knew that it was just procedure to question family of the victim.

He shook his head. He doubted that this woman would show any bit of respect towards Grissom. The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he turned as Catherine stepped inside.

"Grissom's on his way," she explained, moving up next to the glass with him. "Found him and Sara at the morgue." She shook her head, fighting to keep her voice steady. "He's pretty messed up, Nick. In all the years I've worked with him, I've never seen him cry. And now…it's like he can't stop." She put a hand to her mouth, fighting to keep her own tears at bay.

Nick put a gentle hand on her back, but said nothing. His attention was stolen from her when the door to the interrogating room was opened, and Grissom stepped inside.

The CSI supervisor stole a glance at the mirror, wondering who exactly was behind there, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to see. He shook his head slightly, then made his way to the chair usually reserved for suspects. He caught a glance of Sara in the hall, staring at him with wide, worried eyes, before a police officer stepped in with a woman that Gris didn't know.

She briskly took her seat, opening her file and pulling out a few sheets of paper. She set them face-down on the table, then looked up at Grissom finally, lacing her fingers together.

"Mr. Grissom, I presume?" she asked, almost pleasantly. It was almost as if she were going to ask him to tea rather than drill him about his dead mother.

Grissom gave her a very sarcastic smile. "That's me," he said, trying and failing to match her pleasant tone.

She frowned at him, then held up a sheet of paper as if reading it. "You are aware of why you are here?" He nodded, and she continued. "Good. Now, where were you between nine Wednesday night and seven this morning?"

Grissom fixed her with a blank gaze, one his team was very accustomed to. "I was at my house. Sleeping."

"Can anyone support that statement?"

Grissom smirked. "Do you mean was anyone sleeping with me? No."

Micah shot him a disapproving glare, then continued. "Did you know that your mother was in town?"

"Yes. I spent most of yesterday with her."

"And what did you two do?"

Grissom crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Well, she drug me around from store to store until about three. She bought me a nice shirt," he added sadly. He shook his head. "We had a late lunch, and I dropped her off at her hotel. She met me for dinner after eight, and we were done a little before nine. I went home, and she took a cab back to her hotel."

"You didn't drive her back to her hotel?"

"I offered to, but she said that she didn't want to bother me. She said she'd switched hotels, and that I probably wouldn't know where the new one was."

"Why did she change hotels?"

"Said something about bugs on the walls and no water."

Micah nodded, pulling out another piece of paper. "And you had no idea where this new hotel was at?"

"No. She didn't tell me. Didn't seem to think it was important." He shook his head, covering his eyes. "She was supposed to fly home this morning."

Micah looked up at him, seeing him weak and very close to tears as his thoughts went back to his mother. She shook her head. "Do you have any siblings, Mr. Grissom? Any brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"Did your mother have any kind of life insurance?" she pressed.

Grissom slowly looked up at her, quickly catching on to what she was getting at. "Yes. She bought it years ago." He frowned, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Are you implying that I killed my mother for insurance money?"

"Did you kill your mother?" Micah countered.

Grissom stared at her, anger draining the color from his face. His hands began to shake, so he clenched then shut. "No. I would never, could never, hurt my mother. I have never laid a hand on a woman, ever."

"You say you never went to her new hotel room. Explain to me then, Mr. Grissom, why a hair with your DNA profile was found at the scene?" she asked, sliding a lab report across the table at him.

Catherine's breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Nick. His face has also lost its color. "How did she get that lab report? I thought you said Greg hadn't finished it!"

Nick shook his head. "When I went to check on it, he hadn't. Said he was about to run it and would page me when he was through." He shook his head again, clenching his own hands into fists. "That woman must have gotten it before Greg could page me."

Catherine glared at Micah through the glass. "What is she trying to do? Does she really think Grissom did it?"

Nick shrugged. "Knowing Ecklie, he probably planted a seed of distaste in all of his days guys. They're all out to get Gris."

Grissom, meanwhile, was staring at the paper. His hair, at his mother's room? How could that be? He shook his head. "We shed hairs all the time. One of mine could have fallen on her during the course of the day, then flown off in her room."

Micah's smile faltered a little. Obviously she had forgotten that Grissom himself was a renown CSI. "Do you own any silk shirts, Mr. Grissom?"

He shrugged. "I may, but I doubt it. Cotton is more my thing. Practical, yet comfortable," he said sarcastically.

"Would you be willing to let us look at your house?"

Grissom's face hardened. "No."

"Why is that? Feeling guilty about something?"

They watched as Grissom's face reddened. Finally he stood up, slamming his fist on to the table. "I didn't do this! I didn't kill my mother! I loved her! And yes, I do regret something! I regret never going to visit her, for marrying my job!" His voice cracked as fresh tears began to flow. "If only I had gone to visit her more, maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to come here. Then maybe things would have been different." His voice gradually softened, ending up in a whisper as he sank back into his seat, burying his face in his hands.

Micah stared at him for a second, then gathered up her papers. She cleared her throat, looking up at the officer, who himself was staring at Grissom with sympathetic eyes. "We're finished here. He can go," she said, then turned and stepped out of the door.

Catherine watched her walk out, then rushed out of her room to intercept. She grasped Micah's arm, forcing her to turn and face her. "What the hell do you think you were doing? Who told you to treat him like a suspect?"

"I merely looked at the evidence. Maybe if you weren't so personally involved, you would have seen the same thing."

"A single hair at a crime scene doesn't make that person a murderer. He's right about shedding hairs. And we didn't find any evidence that the hair was forcefully yanked out."

"I'm just doing my job," Micah said coldly, turning away and disappearing around a corner.

Catherine stared after her, and continued to steam until Nick approached her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, then sighed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they were trying to set Grissom up."


	6. Chapter Six

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A/N: Another chapter for you guys! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!

"Grissom!" Sara shouted, rushing out of the glass door. She could see Grissom's retreating form nearing the road. "Gris! Wait up!" she shouted again, this time noticing his step falter.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, sighing. But he did stop, shoving his trembling hands in his pockets as he waited. She caught up to him, noticing how tense he was.

"Grissom, are you ok? And don't give me that bullshit 'I'm fine' either. Tell me the truth," she said, putting a hand on his arm.

He took in a deep breath of air, holding it a moment before letting it out slowly, though it did nothing to relieve his tension. He stared at the cars passing them by on the road for a moment. "I just…can't comprehend why they think I would kill my mother. She was…everything. The only constant in my life. And now she's gone, and they think I'm responsible."

"I don't. I know you didn't…couldn't," she amended, looking at him with such concern that it made him want to cry. Never before had any woman even pretended to care about him so much.

"But that woman…" Grissom trailed off, shaking his head. That woman, Micah, boiled his blood. She was like a female Ecklie, living only to cause him trouble. But this, this was going too far. From what he'd heard, they had no real evidence against him, yet Micah was already prepared to slap some cuffs on him. Over what? A single hair and the fact that his mother had bought a life insurance plan? It didn't matter to them that she'd bought the plan fifteen years ago.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, now disheveled. His whole haggard appearance made it seem as if he had just rolled out of bed after a long and terrible battle with the sheets.

Sara gave him a small smile, moving her hand up to squeeze his shoulder. "You should go home. Get some sleep. It'll do you some good."

He shook his head again. "I've had sleep. Sleep doesn't do anything."

"It helps."

"That's when the nightmare start," Grissom said, then clamped his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to reveal that to her, it had just come out.

Sara's expression softened a bit more, and she squeezed his shoulder again, the slight pressure giving him some comfort. "C'mon, Gris. Let me get you away from here. Away from that woman."

Grissom stared blankly at the ground for a moment, and Sara felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. That'll work."

**********

Nick heard the sound of things slamming long before he came into view of the breakroom. Pausing at the corner, he debated with whether his coffee was worth confronting whoever was in there. He glanced into the DNA lab, where Greg was looking at him with wide eyes.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Nick. Catherine's on a rampage," he warned, turning back to his work.

Nick nodded. "Thanks for the warning, Greggo." Swallowing a lump in his throat, he made his way into the break room.

By then, Catherine seemed to have given up throwing things and had conceded to sitting at the table, her head in her hands. She glanced up as Nick came in and sighed. "I tried to bring in the hotel manager for another go round, but he's gone. Hotel owner says he quit right after he was brought in for questioning the first time."

Nick stopped where he stood. "He left town?"

Catherine shrugged. "Left town, left the state, left the country. I don't know. All I know is that he left and didn't give an address."

Nick slid into a seat across from her, leaning over. "Only the guilty flee."

"Or the scared." She sighed, running a hand over her face. "It was him," she said, shaking her head slightly. "It had to be. Why else would he run?"

"Brass put out an APB?"

"Yeah, but he's not sure what good it'll do. Half a day or so…he's out of state," she decided gravely.

"Can we get a warrant for his house, see if he has any evidence there to implicate him?"

Catherine shrugged. "I don't know. Fingerprints in the hotel room that he manages, the fact that he lied during questioning, and the fact that he skipped town after interrogation. We could ask, but I'm not making any guarantees."

They looked up as Warrick stepped in, a stack of papers in his hand. He sighed as he sat, tossing them haphazardly onto the table. "Hey guys. How's Gris doing?" he asked, having heard through the grapevine what had happened.

Nick shook his head. "Not too good, I think. He kinda had a breakdown in the interrogating room."

Warrick frowned. "Why are you interrogating Gris?"

"Protocol, War."

"We knew we wouldn't be able to ask him questions about it, so we got help from days," Catherine explained. "But she…she seems to have it stuck in her head that Grissom's the one who did it."

Warrick made a face. "Gris? Gris could never hurt anyone. I've worked with the guy for years; he's never raised a hand to anyone, unless they had a gun in their hands or something."

"Yeah, I know. I've worked with him longer than you. And trust me, the man almost idolized his mother," Catherine added.

Warrick sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Well, we got the guy on my hit and run, so I can help you guys out if you need it."

Nick nodded. "Sure. The more night shift we have on this-"

"The more Ecklie can accuse us of not being objective. Putting things in Grissom's favor because he's our boss," Catherine interrupted.

Nick and Warrick were silent for a moment, both trying to figure things out. Catherine shook her head and stood up. "We're going to have to keep going. With Grissom out of work, I'm going to run the shift, I guess. Just until he comes back. We can't shut down the whole night shift lab because of this. Mobley will have our heads." She looked at Warrick. "And shift's over for you, War. Go home and get some rest. Nick and I have to see about a warrant."

He sighed, nodding as he stood up. "All right. But you guys let me know if I can do anything."

***********

Grissom was silent the entire ride back to his townhouse. He propped his head against his hand and leaned it against the window, closing his eyes. If Sara hadn't known better, she would have thought he was asleep. But she knew that sleep didn't come easily to him, especially in a car.

She reached over and took his hand in hers. His eyes opened slowly, looking down at their hands for a moment, but he soon closed them again, making no motion to remove his hand from hers. She squeezed it gently. "You doing any better?" she asked, though she was pretty sure of the answer.

"I suppose," he said, turning to look at her. He glanced down at their hands again, then turned his hand over to hold hers. "Thank you, Sara. For staying with me. For everything."

She smiled. "I couldn't let you go through this alone, Grissom."

He gave her a small smile in return, then turned serious again. "I know things haven't been well between us for quite some time. And I know that it's mostly my fault…"

"Grissom, we don't need to talk about this."

"But we do. I mean, it's driving me mad. I can't talk to you, I can't touch you. I can't even be in the same room without feeling it."

"Feeling what?" she asked, turning to glance at him. He looked so worn and tired, so old. Losing his mother had torn down some of the walls he'd built around his heart, making him feel vulnerable.

"A sense of loss. We lost something great."

She nodded. "Our friendship. Because I asked you to dinner."

He sighed, realizing that the conversation wasn't quite going the way he had wanted. He was trying to get _closer_ to her, but was only succeeding in pushing her further away. He felt her grip on his hand slacken, and held it tighter. "It's my fault. I panicked, and you know what happens when I panic. I push everything away." He looked at the window for a moment. "It's not that I wanted to say no, anyway."

She shot him a glance. "You didn't? You seemed so certain."

"Hell, I wanted to say yes. I just couldn't. I mean, as much as I want to 'see what happens', I can't do it."

"Is this about the supervisor/subordinate thing?"

"Slightly, yes. Dating you could result in both of us losing our jobs. Everything I've ever done regarding you: promotions, evaluations, even bringing you to work for me, would be put under suspicion. Mobley could think you got them because you were dating the boss."

Sara nodded, understanding his point. "But it's not true. I mean, look at the evidence," she said, referring to his famous mantra of only believing the evidence.

Grissom shook his head. "Doesn't matter. They could still fire the both of us."

"They wouldn't fire you. You made that lab what it is today. No way they could just 'let you go'. You're far too valuable to them. I mean, what's your solve rate? 93 percent or something like that?"

Grissom gave her a smile small. "So far, 94 percent."

"See. They can't afford to let you go. I can guarantee you'll be snatched up by another lab in a second."

"What about you?"

"I could get another job too, Grissom."

He looked down at their hands again. "But I don't want to lose you," he admitted quietly. She looked at him, surprised. He met her gaze steadily. "I realize now that everything I love could be gone in an instant. And I don't want to lose you without knowing we gave it a go. I…" he trailed off, unsure of what it was that he wanted to say.

But Sara seemed to get the message. She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know, Grissom," she whispered. "I know."


	7. Chapter Seven

I'm back! Thanks so much to Grissomgal71 for beta-ing this and telling me whether it was worth posting or not! Writer's block has disappeared!   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Catherine found herself pacing back and forth in the break room, Nick watching her carefully from his seat. He was tense, probably ready to bolt at the first sign of anger from her. He looked down at his coffee, noticing that it had long ago lost its warmth. He sighed and carefully moved over to a garbage can, dumping the entire cup into it.  
  
At the sound of the liquid falling into the bag, Catherine whirled around to face the younger CSI. Nick froze, his hand still in the garbage, looking very much like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Catherine stared for a moment, then sighed and plopped down into a chair. "Sorry, Nick. Don't mind me."  
  
"Okay," he said carefully, making his way slowly back to his seat.  
  
She looked up towards the doors, then looked back down at the table. "What's taking O'Riley so long?"  
  
Nick shrugged, wondering what she would do to him if he said something she didn't like. "It's kinda late, Cath. He probably had to hunt down a judge."  
  
She sighed again, burying her face in her hands. "Every minute we wait is one minute more this creep has to run. If he gets away..." she shook her head. "How could we ever face Grissom again? Knowing that we let his mother's killer slip through our fingers." She studied Nick for a moment. "Would he be able to forgive us?"  
  
Nick glanced at the table. "Gris is a pretty forgiving guy. More than most people need to be."  
  
"Yeah. It's his whole, 'I don't judge people' attitude." She stared at the wall, lost in thought. That, however, only lasted a few moments. Soon after, O'Riley came rushing into the break room, a piece of paper clutched in his hand.  
  
"Got it. Had to disrupt Judge Maran's supper, but he was glad to help. We got it for the house and belongings of a Larry Roberts."  
  
Catherine took the paper from his hand, reading it over as if she needed to see for herself. She looked up at the big detective and smiled. "Thank you so much, O'Riley." She turned to Nick. "Shall we?"  
  
He grinned. "Let's go nail the son of a bitch."   
  
*******  
  
Nick frowned as he studied the house in front of him. "I think Grissom calls this 'one step above trailer trash'."  
  
Catherine nodded, taking in the sight of the rundown, cluttered house in front of them. The yard had obviously been neglected, and a family of squirrels seemed to have made their home in a hole in the deck. "Well..."  
  
Sticking the search warrant to the front of the door, the two CSI's made their way through the dirty house. O'Riley stood outside of the door, knowing he would only get in the way. Nick searched the bedroom, bathroom, and closets, finding nothing that linked Roberts to the murder. He did, however, find some things that would get him in trouble with the Narcotics division. Pushing aside a few shirts in the closet, he found many silk shirts, but none black.  
  
Catherine wasn't having any more luck. Her search of the kitchen yielded only a set of kitchen knives, all negative for blood. When the CSI's finished, they met in the living room.  
  
"Get anything?" Catherine asked.  
  
The Texan shook his head. "Nothing. This guy must've gotten rid of the evidence." He sighed. "There's got to be something."  
  
"Maybe we jumped in too soon. Maybe Mr. Roberts has nothing to do with this."  
  
Nick shook his head. "Then why run?"  
  
Catherine shrugged. "I don't know. But, in my gut, I know he did it. Something about him..." She stared at the wall for a moment in silence, listening to the sounds from outside.   
  
Suddenly, she heard heavy footsteps rushing into the house. She looked up to see O'Riley all but running towards them. He skidded to a stop, panting. "Just got a hit on Roberts' car. Security guard spotted it in the parking lot of a strip mall."  
  
*******  
  
Catherine snapped on a pair of latex gloves as she stepped up to the side of the car. She glanced over towards a police car, where a disgruntled Larry Roberts was being shoved into the backseat. He caught her gaze, glaring at her until the door was shut. She shook her head, then pulled the handle. Shining the Maglite inside, she found a duffel bag, fast food containers, and various bags of garbage. She started out with the bags of garbage, finding nothing pertaining to the murder.   
  
Nick, meanwhile, was searching the trunk. He found another duffel bag and began to sift through it. "Hey, Cath," he said, holding up a shirt.  
  
Catherine turned to study it. "Black silk," she said, more to herself than to him.   
  
Nick turned the shirt over, giving Catherine a meaningful glance. "Dried blood all over the front," he said, shining his light on the dark spot. He placed the shirt into an evidence bag, then went back to his search. He found nothing more in the trunk, but something didn't feel right to him. The job didn't feel complete. He frowned as he studied the trunk, then ran his hand along the edge. He found a ribbon against the back of the trunk and pulled it up, revealing a compartment for a spare tire. But there was no spare tire inside. Instead, he found a single Crown Royal bag, though the shape told him it didn't contain a bottle of alcohol.  
  
He turned to gaze at Roberts in the police car for a moment before opening the bag. Reaching inside, he pulled out a ring, a watch, and a woman's wallet. He opened the wallet, not surprised to see Mrs. Grissom's face staring at him. He sighed wearily. "Cath," he said softly, holding up the items for her to see. She stared at them for a long while, then shook her head.  
  
"Guilty as sin..."   
  
*******  
  
Grissom stepped into his townhouse, feeling more tired than he ever had before. He was only vaguely aware of Sara closing the door behind them as he drug his feet to the couch. He sank down onto it heavily, kicking his shoes off. He laid his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes and putting his hand over his eyes. He felt as if he hadn't slept in ages.  
  
Sara settled onto the couch next to him, close, yet leaving him some personal space. "You want something to eat? Drink, maybe?"  
  
He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "I know what I want to drink, but it's not a good idea. If I start to drink now, I don't know if I'd be able to stop."  
  
Sara raised an eyebrow. She'd never pictured Grissom as a big drinker, but she also knew that grief did things to people. She ran her fingers down the side of his face. "You look exhausted. You should get some sleep."  
  
He turned to look at her, the fatigue very evident on his face. "Yes, I should. But I don't know if I could." He shook his head. While he had been plagued by nightmares for most of his adult life, the ones he had been experiencing since his mother's death were some of the worst. He knew, also, that as time went by, they would only get worse instead of better.  
  
Sara shifted on the couch, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to stay?"  
  
He tore his eyes away from her, fixing them on his refrigerator. A war was being waged in his heart. A large part of him wanted Sara to stay, knowing that she could help him fight the nightmares; the other half knew that he was probably being selfish, keeping her here. Finally, he turned back to her. "What do you want to do?"  
  
Sara looked surprised by the question. "I want to help you, Gris. No matter what." She studied him for a moment, then abruptly got up from the couch. Her sudden move startled him, and he could only stare as she walked into his bedroom. She came out a moment later, his flannel blanket in her hands. Settling back down on his small couch, she draped it over his shoulders. "There. Now you can sleep."   
  
He raised an eyebrow. "On my couch?"  
  
"Yup. I'm staying with you, and I know it would probably make you very uncomfortable if I hopped into bed with you," she said, then laughed at the wide-eyed expression on Grissom's face . She moved over to the very end of the couch, putting her hand back on his shoulder. "C'mon," she said, motioning for him to lie down.  
  
He gave her another curious expression, then shifted on the couch, laying down the best he could with his head in Sara's lap. He sighed as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, finally realizing how tired he really was. 


	8. Chapter Eight

﻿  
  
*Slight language warning*  
  
Grissom awoke hours later to the sound of the phone ringing. His eyes fluttered open as he debated whether or not he wanted to get up and answer it. But habit soon won over comfort, and he forced himself into a sitting position. He groaned, then blindly reached for the phone. He finally grabbed it and pressed a button.  
  
"Yeah?" he said gruffly, still not fully awake. He glanced at the other end of the sofa, where Sara was sleeping with her head set against the back of the couch. He allowed a small smile to flit across his face at the sight.   
  
"Grissom? Geez...you sound like hell, man," Nick's voice joked over the phone.  
  
"Thanks so much, Nick. Same to you," Grissom replied, standing up and moving toward his kitchen so his voice wouldn't wake Sara. "So, what did you need?"  
  
"Well...I wanted to let you know that we found him."  
  
Grissom felt as if a bucket of ice water had just been poured over his head. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, causing Nick to become concerned.  
  
"Hello? Grissom. Gris, you there?"  
  
"Yeah...yeah, Nick. I'm here," he said after he snapped out of his reverie. He sank down into the chair he kept by his front door. "You got him?" he asked, trying to make himself believe it.  
  
"Yeah. Guy's name is Larry Roberts. He was the hotel manager. They're going to interrogate him soon, even if they don't need his testimony. The guy has so much evidence against him..."  
  
"You're going to interrogate him soon?" Grissom repeated. "I'll be there."   
  
"Gris, no. I really don't think you should be there. It's...way too personal for you."  
  
"Forget it, Nick. I'll be there." With that, Grissom turned the phone off, setting it on the counter as he walked to his bedroom. He pulled out an outfit from within his closet, and made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He shut the door behind him, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked worse than ever. His hair was disheveled, his beard unkempt, he had circles under his eyes, and his skin had a pale pallor to it. He stared at the ghost in the mirror for a long moment, then shook his head, moving to start his shower.  
  
Sara stirred, suddenly feeling as if something were missing. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the sight of Grissom's home. Then she looked down at her lap, where Grissom had fallen asleep, seeing that he was gone. She frowned, then heard the sound of running water. Figuring that Grissom was just using the bathroom, she made her way over to his kitchen to see if she could find something edible.   
  
She was able to find enough supplies to make a small pancake breakfast, and was in the middle of mixing the batter when Grissom stepped out of the bathroom. She looked up as he walked into the kitchen, and it was like she was looking at a brand new man.   
  
Taking a good, long shower seemed to have worked wonders on him, erasing the circles under his eyes and giving him a healthier skin tone. His hair was neatly combed, and his beard was trimmed. His clothes were also very fresh, both the black shirt and black pants ironed.   
  
He stepped up to the island, watching her curiously. "What are you making?" he asked.  
  
She gave him a smile. "Pancakes. I don't think you've eaten in a while, so I thought you might want some breakfast."  
  
Grissom shrugged noncommittally, unsure himself when the last time he had eaten was. He glanced at his watch, seeing that he'd spent about twenty minutes in the bathroom. He wasn't sure when they were going to interrogate his mother's murderer, so he wanted to be there as soon as he could. Yet, when Sara began to cook the pancakes, it was as if the smell were calling for him to stay. His stomach rumbled, so he gave in and sank down on the couch after Sara refused his offer to help.   
  
She set a plate down on his lap, then sat down next to him. They ate in silence, Sara glancing up at Grissom every now and then with a nervous expression on her face.   
  
"You look good," she finally said, desperately wanting to know what had caused his sudden change in demeanor.  
  
He only nodded in reply, staring intently at his plate.  
  
Finally, Sara could take it no more. She set her fork down on the table, leaning over to be closer to Grissom. "Gris, what's going on?" she asked, her tone of voice telling him that he had better answer.   
  
He looked up at her slowly, and then glanced back down at his plate, taking an exaggerated stab at his food. "They…they've found the guy who did it."  
  
Sara froze, staring at Grissom with wide eyes. "They got him?  
  
He nodded, scooping up the last bit of food. He finished it, then stood up, moved to the kitchen, and dropped the plate in the sink. "I'll get those later," he said idly, moving to grab his jacket from the living room.  
  
"Grissom," Sara said, her voice warning him. He stopped and turned to her, his hands nervously clenched into fists. "Where are you going?"  
  
He sighed, glancing at the door as if contemplating escape. "I'm going to the station. They're going to interrogate him."  
  
"Do you really think you should see that?"  
  
He nodded. "I have to. I have to know why."  
  
Sara sighed, stepping closer to him. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "Then I'm going with you."   
  
*******  
  
Nick glanced up as the door behind him opened, allowing Grissom and Sara to step through.   
  
"Gris," he began, stepping towards the elder CSI, "I really don't think you need to be here."  
  
Grissom gave him a severe glare, then moved past him to peer through the glass. "Is that him?" he asked softly, gesturing to the man sitting at the table with his lawyer in the interrogation room, waiting for Brass and Catherine.  
  
Nick didn't answer immediately, getting another glare from Grissom. He sighed, recognizing the near-maniacal glint in the supervisor's eyes. "Yeah, Gris. That's our guy. Larry Roberts, the manager at the hotel."  
  
Grissom nodded, his jaw clenched, then turned back to the glass. He stared at the pale, jittery man for a moment. "What evidence did you get?"  
  
Nick cautiously stepped next to Grissom to also look through the mirror. "We've got your mother's blood all over some clothes in his trunk, your mother's belongings with them. He also had no plausible alibi, easy access to the room, and he ran after the murder." He glanced at Grissom. "Fool-proof. We wouldn't even need a confession."  
  
Grissom gave the slightest of nods, his attention still set on the hotel manager. His eyes only left him for a second when the door in the room opened, letting Brass and Catherine inside. Catherine sat down across from the suspect, while Brass took his usual spot in the corner.  
  
Catherine cleared her throat, pulling some papers from a folder. "Mr. Roberts, we've found significant evidence indicating that you attacked and murdered Mrs. Grissom the night she stayed in your hotel."  
  
Roberts smirked, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Like what?"  
  
Catherine arched an eyebrow, casually sliding evidence photos across the table. "Like her blood all over your clothes. Also her wallet, ring and watch in your car."  
  
"It all points to you," Brass added.  
  
Roberts glanced down at the photos, his confident smile fading.  
  
Catherine shook her head. "You left a tell-tale path of evidence."  
  
The lawyer leaned forward, shooting a glance at his client. "You don't have a murder weapon. No jury in their right mind would convict him for first-degree murder with this."  
  
Roberts closed his eyes. "I dumped the knife in Lake Mead," he whispered. His lawyer shook his head and leaned back.  
  
Catherine frowned. "Why dump the knife and not the bloody clothes?"  
  
He gave her a small, sad smile. "I liked that shirt."  
  
"You thought you could get away with it?"  
  
Roberts shrugged. "Just an old lady. Figured no one'd miss her enough to care."  
  
Sara saw Grissom stiffen next to her, clenching his hands into fists. She thought for a moment that he was going to bust out the glass to get to Roberts. But he didn't; he just kept watching.  
  
Catherine worked her jaw, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. She hid her trembling hands by shuffling her papers.  
  
"You thought that no one would care if you attacked, robbed, and killed an innocent woman?" Brass asked, his voice dripping with disgust.  
  
Roberts looked up at him. "Yeah. I mean, the lady was at the end of her rope anyway. She was alread dyin'. I just helped speed up the process. You see the meds she was takin'? Damn lady had cancer."  
  
Catherine shook her head. "Doesn't matter. You killed her, and that's a crime." She gathered up her papers.  
  
The lawyer shook his head. "We can make a plea bargain," he said, desperation evident in his voice.  
  
Brass shook his head. "No go. We've got all we need."  
  
Catherine reached for the door, her emotions finally getting the best of her. "For your information, someone did care about that old lady. And you've just stolen the only family he had from him." She stood there for a moment, giving Brass a nod.  
  
He stepped forward as another officer cuffed Roberts. "Larry Roberts, you are under the arrest for the murder of Evelyn Grissom."  
  
Nick turned to Grissom as Roberts was led out of the room, being told his rights by the officer. Grissom seemed distant, and didn't watch as Roberts exited. Nick sighed, patting him on the shoulder once before turning to grab his jacket. The sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned just in time to see Grissom disappear. He exchanged glances with Sara, then they both headed after the supervisor.  
  
Grissom stared at Roberts' retreating back for a moment before taking off after him. Both Brass and Catherine saw him coming. Catherine froze, unsure of what to do. Brass, however, stopped and indicated that Roberts should turn. Getting no reaction from the murderer, he turned him around, giving the man a second to see Grissom before he was shoved against the wall. The other officer made to pull Grissom away, but Brass held him back.  
  
At first, Roberts was confused as to what was happening. Then he saw the eyes, the bright blue eyes set with anger. And for a long moment, it was if he were looking into his victim's eyes again.  
  
He expected the man to shout at him, but he didn't. Instead, Grissom spoke in a low voice, though it enticed more fear than shouting ever could.   
  
"Was it worth it? Was killing her worth what you found, you sick piece of shit?"  
  
Roberts smirked, wondering what this man could do to him. "Piss off," he said, trying to shove Grissom off him.  
  
With an expression that frightened Sara, Grissom grasped Roberts arm, slamming him into the wall forcefully.  
  
"Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. You think you're going to get off easy, but you're not. I'm going to make sure you burn. With every bit of power that I possess, you will burn for what you did to my mother." He used the same soft, steely voice as before, sending a chill down everyone's spine. "You'd better hope you get the death penalty, cause if the state won't kill you, I will. One way or another, it's over for you."   
  
Roberts stared at Grissom fearfully for a moment. He'd gotten a lot of death threats in his life, but he felt as if this guy were actually capable of carrying out that threat. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You hear that? He's threatening me." Roberts turned to Brass. "That's police brutality. I could sue."  
  
Brass shrugged. "I didn't see anything." He looked at the younger officer. "You?"  
  
The cop smirked. "Not a thing, sir."  
  
"There you go," Brass said as he grasped an open-mouthed Roberts' arm. The man was still gawking when they turned a corner, giving Grissom one last glance.  
  
Grissom sighed wearily, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his temples. The encounter had been mentally exhausting. He'd seen some cold-blooded killers in his days as a criminalist, but it was completely different to look into the eyes of the man who killed his mother. He was only vaguely aware of Nick and Catherine as they watched him--Nick from his hiding place by the doorjamb of the interrogating room, and Catherine from against the wall. They exchanged glances, seeming to be debating over who would approach Gris. Both were worried about their friend, but both were also afraid of bearing the brunt of Grissom's excess anger.  
  
Catherine apparently won--or lost—and stepped over to Grissom, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, his eyes betraying his fatigue and pain. "You okay?" she asked gently.  
  
He nodded slowly, then gave her a typical, "Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
She squeezed his shoulder. "All right." She looked down for a moment. "You know, we all appreciate you holding back with that guy. It'd be kinda hard to work if our hallway became a crime scene."   
  
He gave her a small smile, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. He glanced at the spot where Roberts had disappeared, then headed toward his office, leaving the other CSIs behind. He threw open the door, and was greeted by the obnoxious singing of the Big Mouth Billy Bass. He flipped on the light, suddenly feeling as if he were some place where he could finally escape.  
  
He walked the length of his shelves for a moment, glancing at the various jars. He occasionally picked one up, studying the contents before replacing it. He put some food in his tarantula tanks, then sank into his chair. He idly looked over the memos and files placed on his desk, all awaiting his attention and signature. Then he sighed, leaning back in the chair.  
  
His office did seem to offer some bit of comfort. It was a place of science, where emotions had no purpose. Anger, grief, and even hatred had no purpose here. It allowed him to breathe, to take a break from the emotions that constantly threatened to overcome him.   
  
A soft knock on his door caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sara silhouetted in the doorframe. "Hey," she said, moving further into his office. They did get him, huh?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. Hotel manager. Didn't think anyone would care," he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. *Guess the office isn't working.*  
  
She pulled a chair up next to his, staring at his face. When he didn't react, she put a hand on the side of his face. His eyes shot up to meet hers.  
  
"It's all right, Grissom. It is. Nick and Cath caught the guy. He'll spend the rest of his life realizing just how stupid he was."  
  
Grissom nodded, then covered her hand with his. "I know, Sara. I know. But…" he paused, looking down at his desk, "but it doesn't stop the pain."  
  
Sara smiled sadly, slightly surprised that Grissom would admit to his feelings so easily. "I know it hurts, Gris. It takes a long time for it to go away." She removed her hand from his face and stood up. "C'mon. Let me drive you home."  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. I have a funeral to arrange."   
  
*******  
  
Sara barely heard the words of the pastor as he spoke, his voice melding with other noises in the environment to become a constant buzz in her head. She tried to focus on what the man was saying and would succeed to a certain extent, only to lose herself in her thoughts once again.  
  
She lifted her eyes to study Grissom, who was standing next to her. Sharply dressed in a suit and tie, he was looking a lot better than he had a few days before. After the interrogation, Sara had taken him home, where he'd slept for another six hours. He'd emerged, finding her settled on his couch, and admitted that he'd never slept so much before in his life. He was staring intently at the pastor as he spoke, but Sara could tell that he too wasn't hearing a word that was said. He'd receded into himself again, and Sara hoped that he would be able to come out.  
  
Looking away from Grissom, her eyes fell upon the other CSIs gathered about the gravesite. Nick shifted uncomfortably on his feet, both from wearing the stuffy suit and thinking of the man that had put Mrs. Grissom in her grave. Catherine's face was calm, and Sara was unable to catch even a glimpse of what the blonde was thinking. Warrick seemed the most emotional, casting small glances in Grissom's direction every now and again. He was concerned about his mentor, and made no effort to hide it.  
  
A small smile crossed Sara's face when she looked to the next person. Greg was dressed in a nice suit, though he kept his oddness by wearing a Goofy and Mickey Mouse tie. When he had first shown up, Catherine had pitched a small fit about the tie, saying it was completely inappropriate. She'd even gone so far as to make Greg take it off and wear an extra one that Nick had brought in case the one *he'd* wore wasn't fitting. Grissom, however, had intervened and said that Greg was fine. And after Greg confessed that he really didn't know how to tie the thing, Grissom had tied it for him, giving the young lab rat an appreciative pat on the back.   
  
Sara scanned the rest of the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. She saw Brass, O'Riley, Vega, Jacqui, Bobby, and Archie. All were here to pay respects to a woman they had never met. For many of them, it wasn't so much to pay respects to Mrs. Grissom, but to pay respect to Grissom himself. And for all of them to take the time to drive out to Marina del Rey for the funeral meant a great deal to Grissom.   
  
"Sara," a soft voice said, cutting into her thoughts. She turned to see Grissom staring at her with a hand on her shoulder. Blinking, she looked around a few times, seeing that the crowd was beginning to disperse. "You okay?"  
  
She smiled. He was asking *her* if she was okay. She should be asking him! She wanted to tell him this, but refrained, choosing instead to just nod. "Yeah, Gris. I'm fine. You?"  
  
He returned her smile, though it seemed a little half-hearted. "I'm fine," he parroted. "You ready to go? We'll have to leave soon if we want to make it in by the start of shift."  
  
Sara nodded, amazed at how quickly Grissom was trying to re-immerse himself in to his day-to-day life. It was odd, and yet it was so...Grissom. It was just the kind of thing that he would do. Try to fight away the pain with work. "Okay. You want me to drive?"  
  
"Sure," he said, handing her the keys. "You go ahead...I'll be right there."  
  
She glanced at the fresh dirt of the gravesite, then nodded. Giving Grissom's shoulder a squeeze, she made her way to the SUV.  
  
Grissom stepped up to the stone and knelt down. For a long moment, he simply read the words engraved in the marble over and over to himself. *Evelyn Ann Grissom. April 6, 1932 - September 14, 2003*. He idly ran his hand over the letters, as if trying to memorize the feel of them. He pulled a rose from one of the wreaths, gently placing it on top of the stone. He let his hand set on it for a long moment, then slowly stood up.  
  
He sighed, knowing that it was going to be hard to move on, to go on with life. He would constantly be reminded of his mother. He would hear her voice, hear her laugh, everything that was her. He would see them everyday...He glanced up at Sara's retreating back and allowed a small smile to cross his face. At least now, with Sara by his side, it wouldn't be so hard.  
  
END  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Well, the end to another story! Once again, I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! Thanks to all those who left reviews. Those things really do inspire me to write more, just 'cause I know someone out there is interested!  
  
Special thanks, once again, to Grissomgal71 for her beta job on these last few chapters. You're the best, Jamie! : )  
  
~Gris 


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